ANNUAL  SERMON 


BEKORE  THE 


flmepi6an  Seamen’s  Ppiend  SesietY. 


AT  ITS 


SIXTY-SEVENTH  ANNIVERSARY, 

Sunday,  JVIay  12,  1895, 


Rev.  W.  H.  P.  FAUNCE, 


IN  THE 


FIFTH  AVENUE  BAPTIST  CHURCH,  NEW  YORK  CITY. 


AMERICAN  SEAMEN’S  FRIEND  SOCIETY, 

76  WALL  STREET,  NEW  YORK,. 

1895. 


SERMON- 


The  abundance  of  the  sea  shall  be  converted  unto  thee. — Isaiah  lx:  5. 

All  through  the  Bible  sounds  the  Hebrew  dread  of  the  sea.  The 
coast  line  of  Palestine  is  a solid  rampart  of  sand  which  seems  to 
begrudge  the  smallest  intrusion  of  any  bay  or  gulf.  Over  that  ram- 
part Israel  looked  with  wonder  on  the  navies  of  other  peoples, 
but  during  most  of  their  history  they  had  none  of  their  own. 
The  Bible  has  two  great  sea  stories — the  story  of  Jonah  and  the 
shipwreck  of  Paul,  and  they  are  tales  of  gruesome  terror,  hair- 
breadth escape  and  miraculous  interposition.  Israel’s  first  experience 
with  the  briny  deep  was  when  driven  into  it  by  Pharoah’s  chariots, 
and  from  the  awful  morning  when  they  saw  the  mailed  and  gleaming 
corpses  of  Egypt  washed  up  on  the  strand  to  the  final  glad  cry  of 
Patmos,  “ there  was  no  more  sea,”  the  Bible  writers  show  the  terror 
of  an  inland  race  in  the  presence  of  the  insatiate  and  ungovernable 
ocean.  “ Sorrow  is  on  the  sea,”  says  Jeremiah;  “ it  cannot  be  quiet.” 
Isaiah  describes  it  as  “the  troubled  sea  which  cannot  rest,  whose 
waters  cast  up  mire  and  dirt.”  “ Wherein,”  says  the  Psalmist  with 
a visible  shudder,  “ wherein  are  things  creeping  innumerable,  both 
small  and  great  beasts.”  The  sailors  in  the  Bible  never  sing  at  their 
work,  but  they  in  cowardly  fashion  fling  overboard  the  prophet,  or 
in  the  famous  New  Testament  voyage  they  try  to  lower  the  boat 
secretly  and  escape  by  leaving  the  ship’s  passengers  behind.  The  wise 
Agur  in  book  of  Proverbs,  among  the  four  things  too  wonderful  for 
him,  names  “the  way  of  a ship  in  the  sea.”  It  is  not  strange  that 
the  aged  John,  looking  off  from  his  rocky  islet  on  the  tossing  billows 
that  shut  him  away  from  all  he  held  most  dear,  saw  in  heaven  a river 
eternally  flowing,  but  saw  no  more  the  rebellion  and  turbulence  of 
the  “salt,  unplumbed,  estranging  sea.” 

Yet  the  splendid  height  of  Hebrew  prophecy  is  indicated  in  such  a 
declaration  as  I have  read  to  you  this  morning.  Looking  off  over  the 
flashing  western  sea,  broken  by  the  purple  sails  of  Tyrian  traders, 
and  by  the  strange  shaped  vessels  peering  above  the  horizon  from 
many  a distant  nation,  the  prophet  cries  to  land-loving  Israel, 
“The  time  is  coming  when  the  abundance  of  the  sea— its  commerce, 
its  spoils,  its  ships,  its  sailors — shall  turn  to  thee  and  acknowledge 
thy  God! ” 


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Most  of  us  landsmen  publicly  share  Israel’s  feeling  about  the 
ocean.  We  admire  it  most  when  we  are  not  on  it,  and  are  firmly  per- 
suaded of  its  exceeding  beauty  when  seen  from  the  shore.  We  let  our 
school-boys  declaim  Byron’s  pompous  “Apostrophe,”  but  we  incline 
to  agree  with  Shakespeare  in  the  Tempest:  “Now  would  I give  a 
thousand  furlongs  of  sea  for  an  acre  of  barren  ground.”  The  abund- 
ance of  the  sea  is  to  us  an  abundance  of  mystery.  We  never  look  off  at 
the  dim  blue  horizon  line  without  feeling  that  we  touch  infinity.  It  is 
“ a gray  and  melancholy  waste.”  As  a keen  observer  writes:  “The 
sea  remembers  nothing.  The  mountains  give  their  lost  children 
berries  and  water;  the  sea  mocks  their  thirst  and  lets  them  die.  The 
mountains  have  a grand,  stupid,  lovable  tranquility;  the  sea  has  a 
fascinating,  treacherous  intelligence.  The  mountains  lie  about  like 
huge  ruminants,  their  broad  backs  awful  to  look  upon,  but  safe  to 
handle;  the  sea  smooths  its  silvery  scales  until  you  cannot  see  their 
joints,  but  their  shining  is  that  of  the  snake.”  When  we  look  upon 
the  ocean  we  think  of  all  its  buried  treasures,  sunken  wrecks,  and 
unmarked  tombs.  Down  in  its  mysterious  depths  are  strange,  bril- 
liant growths  of  weed  and  moss  and  sponge  and  slow-waxing  coral. 
There  are  marine  fruits  of  gorgeous  color  and  indescribable  sheen, 
there  are  tropical  luxuriances  of  vegetation,  marine  jungles  where 
water-snakes  glide  in  and  out  and  huge  fins  flap  lazily  in  warm  bays, 
aud  gigantic  eyes  stare  out  of  uncouth  heads,  and  mammoth  forms 
lie  lazily  on  sandy  bottoms  or  burrow  in  the  slimy  ooze;  and  there,  in 
the  “ sunless  retreats  of  the  ocean,”  at  a distance  miles  below  the 
surface,  where  the  temperature  is  nearly  zero,  grow  the  hardy  flora 
and  fauna  of  the  arctic  region;  and  everywhere  on  the  ever  moving 
sea-floor  in  the  “ living  infinite  of  the  sea”  the  great  mass  of  infuso- 
rial life  which  is  hardly  life  at  all  but  which  affects  all  the  life  of  the 
globe.  When  the  ship  Challenger  put  down  her  .dredge  and  brought 
up  from  five  miles  below  living  creatures  with  eyes  and  head,  we 
began  to  realize  the  enormous  range  of  life  in  that  aquarium  which 
covers  nine-tenths  of  our  world. 

And  the  abundance  of  the  sea,  which  is  to  have  its  jiart  in  building 
up  the  kingdom  of  God,  is  an  abundance  of  power.  All  our  con- 
tinents have  been  hewn,  cut  aud  polished  by  the  sea.  There  is  not  a 
spot  of  earth  that  has  not  at  some  time  been  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ocean.  The  crests  of  Andes  and  Himalayas  were  once  under  salt 
water,  and  all  mountains  carry  the  shells  or  the  abrasions  of  their 
former  oceanic  home.  The  sandstone  out  of  which  we  build  our 
houses  was  once  the  sea-floor,  and  all  our  Eastern  States  bear  the  visible 
seratchings  of  the  great  bergs  which  once  floated  over  submerged 


r> 


America.  And  the  ocean  is  now  at  work  along  every  continent,  ter- 
rible in  its  power  to  eat  out  the  shore  or  batter  the  cliffs  into  pebbles. 
When  tempest  “scourges  the  toiling  surges,”  when  the  north-easter 
flings  landwards  some  mighty  wave  with  a pressure  of  many  tons  to 
the  square  inch,  no  piece  of  shore  can  remain  intact.  The  waves 
belabor  the  strongest  cliff  with  a blast  of  sand  and  sharp  stones,  so 
that  in  some  parts  of  England  seventy  or  eighty  feet  of  shore  sink  out 
of  sight  each  year. 

But  the  abundance  of  the  sea  is  not  simply  in  its  blind  forces,  but 
in  the  men  who  traverse  its  surface,  drink  in  the  exhilaration  of  its 
salt  air  and  share  its  love  of  freedom  and  greatness.  Those  who  have 
read  Captain  Mahan’s  recent  book  on  the  “ Influence  of  the  Sea 
Power  in  History,”  know  with  what  a masterly  hand  an  American 
sailor  can  sketch  the  power  of  the  sea  in  moulding  human  life.  The 
ocean  is  the  life-giver  of  the  world.  Wherever  it  cannot  penetrate, 
as  in  Siberia  and  Africa,  the  land  stagnates  and  dries  up.  Wherever  it 
can  insert  its  sinuous  arms,  as  iu  Greece  and  England,  there  is  a virile 
progressive  people.  Wherever  the  sailor  has  gone,  there  have  gone  free- 
dom, civilization,  commerce  and  knowledge.  In  all  history  the  cities 
by  the  sea,  Tyre,  Carthage,  Venice,  Genoa,  have  held  the  destinies 
of  nations  in  their  keeping.  Genoa  and  Venice  carried  the  armies 
of  the  Crusaders  to  the  land  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  brought 
back  the  shattered  remnants  of  soldiery  laden  with  treasures  of  art 
and  literature  which  were  scattered  over  Europe  to  become  the  seeds 
of  the  Rennaissance.  To  shut  up  any  nation  into  itself  means  the 
petrefaction  of  a Corea  or  a China.  The  sea  is  the  highway  of  the 
nations,  the  chief  bond  of  human  brotherhood.  A little  time  ago  we 
saw  moored  in  the  Hudson  the  models  of  the  three  frail  pinnaces 
which  Columbus  steered  to  San  Salvador,  and  we  realized  the  glory 
of  the  men  who  with  so  little  did  so  much.  The  best  blood  of  that 
day  went  into  sailing,  and  the  keenest  minds  and  stoutest  hearts  of 
the  age  were  wrestling  with  the  problem  of  the  sea.  Holland  snatched 
her  soil  from  the  domain  of  the  deep,  and  then  made  the  baffled  ocean 
carry  her  products  round  the  world.  Twenty-five  hundred  ships 
rode  at  anchor  in  the  harbor  of  Antwerp  until  the  Dutch  were  hum- 
bled by  the  power  of  Spain. 

England  would  be  in  barbarism  to-day  if  it  were  not  for  that  enor- 
mous fleet  of  little  boats  that  grated  on  the  beach  at  Hastings  in 
1066  and  poured  forth  60,000  Normans  under  William  the  Conqueror. 
As  he  slipped  and  fell  upon  the  shore,  he  sprang  up,  his  hands  full 
of  wet  sand,  and  changing  the  accident  into  happy  omen,  cried, 
“See,  I have  taken  possession  of  England  with  both  my  hands,” 


6 


type  of  that  race  that  have  ever  since  grasped  every  difficulty  “ with 
both  hands  earnestly.” 

Then  followed  the  noble  sailors  of  the  “ spacious  times  of  great 
Elizabeth,”  the  chivalrous  Ealeigh,  the  audacious  Magellan,  the 
intrepid  Drake,  the  latter  knighted  by  the  queen  herself  on  the  deck 
of  his  own  vessel.  The  mariners  of  England  have  carried  her  name 
and  fame  into  every  corner  of  the  earth.  They  have  planted  colonies 
in  all  longitudes,  have  made  her  morning  drum-beat  heard  round  the 
world;  in  time  of  war  beating  back  her  foes,  in  time  of  peace  filling 
every  sea  with  her  snowy  sails. 

In  our  own  history  let  us  not  forget  that  whatever  we  think  of  a 
sailor’s  life  to-day  we  are  the  sons  and  daughters  of  seafaring  men 
and  women.  English  and  Dutch  alike  mastered  themselves  in  mas- 
tering the  sea.  It  was  fortunate  for  early  New  England  that  the  sea- 
barrier  kept  the  cowards  and  drones  at  home.  The  Mayflower  brought 
only  heroes  and  heroines  to  a heroic  task.  The  great  whaling  indus- 
try created  and  nourished  a venturesome  and  hardy  race.  When  the 
Devolution  came  it  won  victory  on  the  sea  which  made  possible  vic- 
tory on  the  land.  The  tea-party  in  Boston  harbor  gave  the  inspira- 
tion for  Lexington  and  Bunker  Hill.  When  Paul  Jones  lashed  the 
Bon  Homme  Richard  to  the  Seraj)is  and  conquered  her  in  very  sight 
of  the  British  coast,  he  sent  a thrill  through  Europe,  and  reinforced 
every  American  regiment.  In  that  great  struggle  for  independence 
it  was  the  American  sailor  that  compelled  a recognition  ol  the  rights 
of  neutrals  and  modified  international  law;  and  when  Cornwallis  sur- 
rendered it  was  the  sight  of  the  allied  fleets  in  the  harbor  which  com- 
pelled the  deed. 

In  our  Civil  War  some  75,000  sailors  were  enrolled  in  our  naval 
force,  a large  part  of  them  from  the  merchant  marine.  In  Arctic  ex- 
ploration no  names  have  gained  surer  immortality  than  those  of  De 
Long  and  Greeley.  To-day  the  White  Squadron' of  our  country  pro- 
tects the  American  citizen  wherever  he  may  wander.  It  shields  the 
missionary  as  he  braves  the  islands  of  the  sea,  it  gives  safety  to  the 
traveller,  and  often  has  brought  a Christian  message  to  pagan  shores. 
That  Japan  which  is  now  leading  Asia  into  light  heard  its  first  Prot- 
estant hymn  in  1853,  when  Commodore  Perry  sailed  into  the  harbor 
of  Yeddo,  read  from  the  open  Bible  on  the  capstan  the  one  hundreth 
Psalm,  and  lined  out  the  words  : 

“ All  people  that  on  earth  do  dwell 
Sing  to  the  Lord  with  cheerful  voice.” 

Yes,  my  friends,  though  our  American  shipping  has  now  decayed, 
and  we,  absorbed  in  internal  development,  may  have  neglected  the 


7 


sea-power,  we  must  not  forget  that  we  arc  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
a seafaring  race,  and  through  all  our  history  its  noblest  episodes,  its 
most  heroic  daring,  its  greatest  victories  have  been  associated  with 
the  sound  of  the  sea.  The  salt  breeze  has  been  to  our  people  the 
breath  of  liberty,  the  sea  has  been  a bulwark  of  defense,  and  from 
our  Norse  forefathers  down  to  the  brave  crew  of  the  Monitor  who  in 
a single  morning  saved  themselves  and  the  nation,  the  race  has  seen 
no  nobler  men  than  some  of  its  naval  commanders. 

Less  conspicuous,  but  often  none  the  less  brave,  are  the  common 
sailors,  who  face  all  weathers  in  the  ordinary  commerce  of  the  world. 
When  the  winter  storm  drives  us  to  our  glowing  firesides,  we  do  well 
to  think  of  those  sailors  who  cling  frost-bitten  to  the  icy  rigging,  and 
amid  snow  and  hail  and  blackness  of  midnight  wait  with  unutterable 
longing  for  a friendly  gleam  from  the  shore.  Out  of  the  great  army 
of  three  millions  of  sailors  from  all  parts  of  the  world  hundreds  are 
killed  each  year  in  the  contest  with  wind  and  wave.  Had  they  died 
in  the  army  we  should  decorate  their  graves  each  year,  but  the  dead 
sailor  gets  only  the  canvas  shroud,  the  hasty  prayer  beside  the  plank, 
the  plunge,  and  the  unvisited  tomb. 

A little  time  ago  New  York  was  raising  a fund  for  the  families  of 
six  brave  sailors  who  once  belonged  to  the  Dutch  steamship  Amster- 
dam. “Common  sailors”  men  called  them,  bronzed  and  brawny 
young  tars  of  thirty  years  perhaps,  with  littles  homes  and  wives  and 
children  in  Holland,  simple,  humble  men  who  never  dreamed  of 
fame.  But  one  day  they  sighted  the  wrecked  ship  Maggie  E.  Wells 
with  fourteen  men  clinging  to  the  rigging,  and  when  Captain  Stenger 
called  for  volunteers  to  man  the  life  boat,  seven  young  sailors  sprang 
forward.  Down  into  the  tempestuous,  seething  caldron  of  the  sea 
they  were  lowered,  and  with  just  one  thought  for  the  dear  ones  in 
Holland  they  manned  the  oars.  The  boat  was  capsized,  broken,  and 
six  brave  fellows  were  seen  no  more.  The  fourteen  and  the  six  were 
gone,  the  life-boat  lost,  and  “nothing  came,”  says  the  newspaper, 
“ of  this  noble  work  of  mercy  and  sacrifice.”  Ah,  be  sure  that  much 
has  come  of  it  to  all  the  three  million  who  do  business  in  the  great 
waters.  “ So  shines  a good  deed  in  a naughty  world,”  and  the  deeds 
of  the  common  sailor  give  us  a glimpse  of  an  ideal  humanity  and  of 
Him  who  laid  down  Hi3  life  for  His  friends. 

And  when  we  cross  the  ocean  ourselves  it  is  the  sailor  to  whom  we 
are  indebted  every  hour.  We  pace  the  deck  in  the  sunshine,  but 
below  the  decks  is  a small  city  of  men  at  work  for  our  comfort.  The 
old  fashioned  shipbuilder  is  out  of  date,  and  the  huge  leviathan  of 
the  Atlantic  liner  is  a matter  of  most  skillful  engineering,  of  mighty 


8 


castings  and  forgings,  of  huge  plates  and  girders  against  which  the 
sea  has  no  power.  It  becomes  a floating  world,  gorging  itself  with 
coal,  flinging  billows  of  spray  from  its  bow,  leaving  its  white  wake  in 
the  sea  and  its  dark  line  in  the  air,  and  dropping  below  the  horizon 
as  if  it  were  a huge  bird  and  did  but  skim  the  sea  in  its  flight. 

And  this  evolution  of  the  ship  ought  to  mean  the  growth  of  the 
sailor.  He  becomes  in  many  cases  an  intelligent  leader,  a master  in 
navigation  and  mechanics,  and  worthy  of  greater  honor  and  esteem 
than  ever  before.  I shall  not  forget  the  first  time  that  I approached 
the  shores  of  America  after  a long  absence.  The  weather  had  been 
rough  but  suddenly  cleared  away,  and  we  were  pacing  the  deck  on  a 
cloudless  evening  with  a full  moon  in  the  sky,  thinking  of  the  “ home, 
sweet  home  ” we  soon  should  greet  again.  Some  one  cried,  “ The 
pilot  ! ” The  captain  sprang  to  the  bridge  and  every  passenger  to  the 
ship’s  side.  There  it  was,  the  gleam  of  a snowy  sail  low  on  the  dim 
horizon,  as  if  the  wing  of  a dove  had  flown  out  from  the  land  to  meet 
us.  For  two  days  through  the  storm  that  pilot  boat  had  sailed  up 
and  down  to  find  us,  and  we,  thinking  only  of  home,  gave  a hearty 
greeting  and  thought  no  more  of  the  sailor. 

The  development  of  the  ship  ought  to  be  the  development  of  those 
who  man  it.  It  ought  to  mean,  it  does  mean  that  henceforth  for 
weal  or  woe  the  sailor  is  to  take  a still  larger  part  in  moulding  our 
civilization,  shaping  national  character  and  life.  There  are  two 
classes  of  men  to-day  who  are  delegates-at-large  to  all  mankind,  the 
railroad  men  and  the  sailors.  Both  of  them  have  been  sadly  neglected 
and  forgotten  by  the  nations  whose  progress  is  possible  only  through 
their  devotion.  The  half  million  American  sailors  are  scattering  the 
seeds  of  our  national  life  all  round  the  globe.  They  are  unaccredited 
ambassadors  to  every  port,  they  represent  us  to  the  antipodes,  and 
the  Christianization  of  the  sailor  would  be  one  of  the  swiftest  means 
to  the  Christianization  of  the  globe.  Long  enough  have  we  sent 
missionaries  and  whiskey  in  the  same  ship,  long  enough  have  we 
landed  at  pagan  ports  three  or  four  missionaries  to  preach  Christ  and 
thousands  of  neglected  sailors  to  preach  self-indulgence  and  sin. 
Little  will  it  avail  to  load  American  ships  with  tracts  and  Bibles,  so 
long  as  the  same  ship  carries  western  vices  to  the  children  of  the  east. 
When  Admiral  Foote  was  dining  with  the  king  of  Siam  he  asked  a 
blessing  at  the  table.  The  king  in  surprise  inquired  if  the  bronzed 
old  sailor  was  a missionary.  “Sir,”  answered  the  bluff  admiral, 
“every  Christian  is  a missionary.”  If  every  sailor  was  a missionary 
carrying  Christ  into  the  crowded  ports  of  all  the  earth,  we  should 
have  the  mightiest  evangelistic  agency  the  world  has  yet  seen.  These 


0 


three  million  potential  apostles  ask  no  salary  from  the  church  at 
home,  they  need  no  training  school  save  the  tossing  brine,  but  if  they 
wore  disciples  of  Christ  then  the  blessed  inspiration  of  their  faith 
would  illumine  the  region  that  sits  in  darkness  and  girdle  land  and 
sea  with  a broad  belt  of  Christian  light.  Simple,  unsophisticated 
men,  brave  and  brawny  and  true,  like  the  first  apostles  of  Christ 
whose  training  school  was  the  sea,  these  men  are  the  advance  guard 
of  civilization.  If  bad,  they  will  corrupt  the  earth  ; if  good,  they 
will  sweeten  and  purify  all  lands,  lie  who  makes  the  winds  1 1 is 
messengers  waits  to  make  each  flying  ship  the  herald  of  His  great 
evangel. 

“ God  bless  her,  whereso’er  the  breeze 
Her  snowy  wing  shall  fan, 

Aside  the  frozen  Hebrides 
Or  sultry  Hindustan ! 

Her  pathway  on  the  open  main 
May  blessings  follow  free, 

And  glad  hearts  welcome  back  again 
Her  white  sails  from  the  sea!  ” 

Now  there  are  three  things  we  can  do  for  the  sailor: 

1.  We  can  surround  him  when  on  shore  with  wholesome,  strong, 
Christian  influences.  The  sailor  is  perforce  away  from  home,  and 
home  is  to  most  men  the  anchor  of  the  moral  life.  The  uplifting 
power  of  womanhood  is  the  strength  and  safety  of  manhood,  and  he 
who  leaves  behind  him  mother,  sister,  wife,  often  leaves  God  at  the 
same  time.  Many  a true,  brave  tar,  as  he  trims  his  sail  to  the  breeze, 
“ thinks  on  the  woman  that  loves  him  the  best,”  but  the  “harbor 
bar  is  moaning,”  the  duty  is  calling  and  all  the  tender  ties  that  bind 
us  into  goodness  are  left  at  the  hoisting  of  the  anchor.  And  when 
he  enters  the  foreign  port,  camping  out  in  some  miserable  lodging 
house,  his  wages  perhaps  withheld,  or  plundered  from  him  by  land- 
sharks,  unnoticed  by  the  churches,  unwelcomed  by  respectable  and 
sleek  Christianity,  ever  welcomed  by  saloon  and  vile  den,  is  it  any 
wonder  that  he  often  succumbs  to  evil  ? The  worst  sights  I have  ever 
seen  in  New  York  were  in  walking  late  in  the  evening  through  some 
streets  where  special  welcome  is  offered  to  sailors  from  every  land 
under  heaven.  And  one  of  the  happiest  sights  in  the  city  is  the 
Sailors’  Home  at  190  Cherry  Street,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Amer- 
ican Seamen’s  Friend  Society,  where  a Christian  welcome  is  given 
to  every  tar,  where  strong  hands  help  him  into  nobler  life,  and  from 
which  missionaries  go  forth  to  visit  incoming  vessels  with  the  message 
of  the  gospel.  The  thing  the  sailor  most  needs  on  shore  is  the  touch 
of  Christian  home-life. 


10 


2.  We  can  follow  him  at  sea  with  substantial  sympathy  and  aid. 
The  system  of  loan  libraries  which  has  been  devised  by  the  American 
Seamen’s  Friend  Society  is  as  ingenious  as  it  is  praiseworthy. 
Many  of  us  believe  in  the  “ chapel  cars”  by  which  the  gospel  is  being 
preached  to-day  in  hundreds  of  western  towns,  the  car  being  attached 
to  the  rear  of  any  train  and  side-tracked  at  any  station.  But  better 
than  to  build  a chapel-ship  is  it  to  make  every  ship  a chapel.  Forty- 
three  books,  placed  in  a vessel  bound  on  a long  cruise,  constitute  a 
silent  uplifting  force  no  man  can  estimate.  They  bind  the  sailor  to 
the  shore,  they  set  before  him  ideals  of  purity,  temperance,  integrity, 
they  stimulate  intellectual  and  moral  life,  they  persuade  him  that 
God  has  not  forgotten,  that  the  church  has  not  forgotten  him.  New 
York  State  has  recently  established  a series  of  portable  libraries,  by 
which  the  regents  of  our  State  University  will  send  a small  case  of 
books  to  any  town  in  the  State  where  serious  educational  work  is 
undertaken.  What  the  Empire  State  is  now  doing  the  American 
Seamen’s  Friend  Society  began  to  do  in  1S5S. 

3.  And  we  can  also  quietly  resolve  this  morning  that  henceforth 
we  will  cherish  a strong  personal  interest  in  the  life  of  the  sailor. 
Perhaps  we  have  ignored  one  of  the  most  potent  influences  of  our  time. 
Perhaps  we  have  taken  from  the  sailor  food  and  furnishing  and  fabric 
from  every  quarter  of  the  globe,  and  have  done  nothing  for  the  sailor 
save  to  pay  him  a pittance  and  provide  him  a saloon  in  which  to  lose 
it.  We  go  to  Europe  in  the  summer  without  one  throb  of  sympathy 
for  the  men  who  carry  us.  Let  us  realize  they  are  flesh  and  blood, 
some  of  them  the  best  the  world  has  seen.  Let  us  visit  when  we 
can,  the  Home  at  Snug  Harbor  where  the  aged  graduates  of  the  sea 
pace  up  and  down  with  eyes  on  the  horizon,  as  if  the  shaded  walk 
were  the  deck  of  the  forecastle  and  the  solid  ground  were  rolling  in  a 
stiff  breeze.  Let  us  cherish  the  organization  in  whose  name  we  meet 
to-day,  not  the  sailor’s  patron,  or  the  sailor’s  master,  but  the  sailor’s 
friend.  From  the  ranks  of  the  American  sailors  whose  fathers  steered 
over  the  wintry  sea,  fought  with  immortal  valor  in  our  revolution  and 
civil  war,  are  to  come  some  of  our  leaders  in  the  twentieth  century. 
Out  of  the  men  who  pace  the  quarter-deck  in  many  a blinding  squall, 
who  have  wrestled  with  the  hurricane  and  gazed  undaunted  into  the 
deep  when  it  is  made  to  boil  like  a pot,  out  of  the  hardy  manhood, 
scarred  and  weather-beaten,  but  patient,  courageous  and  victorious, 
out  of  that  manhood  which  binds  us  in  ever  stronger  bonds  to  the 
other  nations  of  the  world,  are  to  come  many  of  those  who  shall 
control  the  destiny  of  our  Ship  of  State  and  fill  the  future  with 
strength  and  beauty. 


11 


Many  of  us  have  paused  in  Westminster  Abbey  by  the  tomb  of  Sir 
John  Franklin,  bearing  the  inscription  of  Tennyson’s  noble  verse: 

“Not  here;  the  white  North  has  thy  bones; 

And  thou,  heroic  sailor-soul, 

Art  passing  on  thy  happier  voyage  now, 

Toward  no  earthly  Pole!  ” 

May  we  so  help  the  sailor  that  when  North  or  South  shall  claim  his 
body,  (Jod  may  receive  his  soul! 


1828 


meritan 


m\m\  s 


1895 


Mr.  CHARLES  H.  TRASK,  President. 


Mr.  JAS.  W.  ELWELL,  Vice-President. 


Rev.  W.  C.  STITT,  D.D.,  Secretary. 


Mr.  WM.  C.  STURGES,  Treasurer. 


Capt.  David  Gillespie, 


Rev.  Edward  B.  Coe,  D.D.  LL.D., 
“ A.  G.  Vermilye,  D.D., 

“ Chas.  Cuthbert  Hall  D.D., 
“ J.  A.  B.  Wilson,  D.D., 

“ Chas.  A.  Stoddard,  D.D  , 

“ Norman  Fox,  D.D., 


Trustees : 

Mr.  Wm.  A.  Booth, 

“ Wm.  E.  Stiger, 

“ Enos  N.  Taft, 

“ Chas.  K.  Wallace, 
“ John  Dwight, 

“ Jas.  P.  Wallace. 

“ W.  I.  Comes, 


Mr.  Elbert  A.  Brinckerhoff, 
“ Frederick  Sturges, 


“ A.  G.  Agnew, 

“ Daniel  Barnes, 

“ Samuel  Rowland, 
'*  Geo.  Bell, 


W.  Hall  Ropes. 


There  are  nearly  three  million  seamen  afloat.  The  American 
Seamen’s  Friend  Society  aims  to  do  them  good. 

It  gives  annual  aid  to  chaplains  laboring  in  their  behalf,  in  17  for- 
eign and  14  domestic  ports. 

It  places  loan  libraries  for  seamen’s  use  on  vessels  leaving  the  port 
of  New  York.  Up  to  December  1,  1894,  10,146  libraries  have  been 
sent  to  sea;  about  two  libraries  for  every  working  day  for  thirty-six 
years. 


seamen  can  board  and  be  comparatively  protected  from  vicious  sur- 
roundings, and  where  shipwrecked  and  destitute  sailors  are  cared  for. 

It  publishes  the  Sailors’  Magazine  for  the  friends  of  seamen, 
the  Life  Boat  for  Sunday  Schools,  and  the  Seamen’s  Friend  for 
seamen. 

It  distributes  on  vessels  the  publications  of  the  American  Bible 
Society  and  the  American  Tract  Society. 

Through  its  agents  and  efforts  sailors  are  befriended,  enlightened, 
comforted  and  blessed.  The  record  of  its  work  in  all  the  years  of  its 
existence  has  cheered  both  the  philanthropist  and  Christian. 

Your  church  is  requested  to  take  an  annual  collection  for  this 
work,  and  to  send  it  to  the  Treasurer,  at  No.  76  Wall  Street,  New 
York.  Publications  containing  facts  for  sermons  will  be  sent  to 
pastors  on  application. 


It  provides  a Sailors’  Home  at  190  Cherry  Street,  New  York,  where 


